Memento Mori
by Scarlett71177
Summary: Up ahead a gnarled, old, oak tree curled over the path. Mosses and lichens hung from the branches casting a curtain onto the green grass. This was it. The grey stones no longer rose proudly from the ground most of them leaned over, almost bending to the w


_Memento Mori_

Ginny promised herself she wouldn't cry, but deep inside her heart, she knew it was all a lie. Despite the fact that it was a summer's day, she shivered and wished she had thought to bring a jumper. The wind picked up and blew a cool breeze her way. The pale yellow sundress she had chosen to wear that morning fluttered in the wind gust and entangled itself around her long, freckled legs. Her coppery red hair blew wildly around her and ensnarled itself as she tried to gather it up in her hands until the winds calmed. The heel of her sandals crunched softly on the gravel and with a deep breath she looked up ahead to the 'Y' in the trail.

Ginny cautiously looked over her right shoulder and then her left. She shielded her eyes from the sun's bright light and took in her surroundings. Rolling hills and green grass encompassed her. Time honoured trees dotted the fields, but their relief on the landscape was infrequent. It looked and felt as though she were lost at sea. The wind ripped over the sloping hills and the waist high scrub like great ocean swells. Her only solace in this sea of green was the red dirt path she'd been walking on. At any moment it felt as though the invisible dam holding back the influx would break and let the waves crash down upon her, drowning her and leaving her at the bottom of the depths. She felt lost, alone, and confused.

_Take a left where the path splits, keep along Hollow Hill Road. _

She remembered that now. One of the most famous wizards ever to live and only one person in the entire word knew where the gravesite was. A part of him would like the solitude. Ginny had gone to Dumbledore and asked for permission to visit the little cemetery, promising she would take the secret of his final resting place to her own grave. It was something she felt she needed to do, to see him- one last time…

Up ahead a gnarled, old, oak tree curled over the path. Mosses and lichens hung from the branches casting a curtain onto the green grass. This was it. The grey stones no longer rose proudly from the ground, most of them leaned over, almost bending to the will of the person lying six feet below. Only one stone stood upright.

Ginny's breath became ragged as she ascended the gentle hill and the tears threatened to crest over the edge of her eyes once more. She found it deeply ironic that he was buried in a Potter's Field in the English countryside. At the top of the hill she inhaled deeply and stepped off the rocky path. The soft, spongy earth sunk beneath her feet, as if in effort to pull her down to join the lonely occupants underneath her. She gasped audibly, then looked over to the roots of the oak tree gently undulating with the shape of the hill. _It's only tree roots upsetting the earth. _Ginny rationalized, putting all of her weight down on her feet, feeling the dirt squish beneath them.

She stepped cautiously through the graves on the redeemed ground, watching as the tall stone near the back of the cluster grew larger with every step nearer. Ginny was suddenly aware that tears were streaming steadily down her freckled cheeks. The wind blew softly, bringing with it the scent of fresh rain off in the distance as she took one final step and found herself looking down at the grave.

No name was etched into the marble. Only initials. Everyone knew his initials anyway, you had to be living under a rock for twenty years not to know. With great vigilance Ginny cast a look over her shoulder, ensuring she was alone and crouched down, even with the tombstone. Her mind was instantly flooded with memories.

A tall, slender, black-haired boy. Nothing unusual about that. The truth was, he was like no one else she had ever, or would ever know. He was a boy with no real home. Yes, he had a house to live in, with people that despised him, no one who loved him, but he had never known _a home._ No mother to hug at the end of the day and tell him everything would be all right. An orphan.

He had been sympathetic, kind, patient, and charming. He was brilliant and brave and even earned a Special Award for Services to the School. Foolishly, Ginny had confided in him, believing that he loved her back. He had his own agenda, he always did. He never cared about hurting anyone. She had been so feeble-minded to fall in love with someone she didn't even I truly /I know. She'd heard stories her whole life, but never known him.

The wind blew again, catching Ginny's red hair in the breeze. The strands of her hair stuck to the tear stains and the faint, pink gloss painted on her full lips, and obscured the headstone from her vision. She reached up with her right hand, sweeping the hair away from her face.

First it had been pity that attracted Ginny to him. She wanted to make all the bad memories go away, but soon it developed into something more. A school girl's crush? At first, it had begun as a friendship, as most relationships do. It hadn't taken long, once she opened up to him, for the two of them to become reciprocal. Someone to talk to, to listen to, to exchange your deepest secrets with, but truth be known, they were never on the same plane, never meant to be. Just when she had begun to doubt herself, to think nothing was ever going to happen, to think she was crazy- everything heightened.

I He only used you. /I Ginny thought to herself, picking at the grass near her feet. I He thought you were a silly, stupid, little girl, with a silly school girl's crush. Nothing more. You opened your heart to him and poured out your emotions. He took you apart piece by piece. You got what you deserved. /I

With a shaking hand, she reached out and traced the initials on his grave. She forced herself to swallow and to find her voice.

"You were wrong," she whispered. "I got over you, just as I always knew I would. I had lots of help, from someone who loved me back."

A crow cawed, startling Ginny where she was crouched in front of the tombstone. When she twisted around to see where the sound was coming from, she fell over. Her heart was thundering loudly in her ears, pounding rapidly in her chest, and her breath came out in short puffs. She pushed herself up from the cold, spongy ground and stared down at the grave. She wiped away the tears staining her cheeks and her eyes narrowed in anger.

"He loves me. I Really /I loves me, unlike you. He respects me, and cares for me, he is I truly gentle and kind and good, and brave. He doesn't care that I had silly, stupid, schoolgirl crushes. I was right, I got what I deserved. I deserved to be happy. It never mattered to me who he was, just that he was as unlike you as he could be. We got to know each other, our relationship was never one-sided, we shared secrets that were important, not ones to manipulate the other. He asked me to marry him, and I couldn't be happier. He loves me!"

Ginny was astounded at her own volume and the tears that had resurfaced. "I don't need you," she spat in a hushed voice. "I never did."

She took several steps backward, refusing to turn her back on that grave. She wiped the back of her hand across her cheeks and sniffled loudly. Ginny looked deep inside her and found the anger, the exploitation, the courage that brought her here in the first place. Her voice was strong and secure. "You were wrong. He did love me. Good riddance, Tom Riddle, I'm going home to my husband, my hero, my Harry."

* * *

_Author's Note: To any of you who may have stumbled upon this in reference to Time Enough- don't fret. Everything is fine- just slow. In the time I have been waiting for the beta on Chapter 19, I have finished writing the story. I promise, Chapter 19 will post as soon as I get revisions back. In the meantime, please see my live journal for updates. The link is provided in my Author Bio. I try to keep the crowd there aquainted with the goings-on regarding my work. Thanks for your support, and your patience._

_Amy_

_P.S. The meaning of Memento Mori is a reminder of death._


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